The bedroom suite was warm and filled with the gentle, flickering glow of the burning fireplace logs. The black-sealed paper had turned into light grey ashes inside the hearth, completely destroyed by the bright yellow flames. All the mean threats from the old men of the Manhattan Elite Board were now nothing more than smoke rising up the tall chimney.

Clara stood in the center of the soft, thick rug, her dark eyes looking at the magnificent gift box lying open on her plush velvet bed. The hand-woven ivory silk gown lay nestled inside, shining like liquid silver under the warm light of the crystal chandelier hanging above.

Lucian and...